Tag Archives: Porn

If you were debating whether or not to take that loan to get your Master’s degree in creative writing, the New York Times T Magazine has just the thing to send you running to the closest available co-signer.

In their most recent issue, T features famous writers in the spaces where they work. Witness Colson Whitehead casually sipping from his mug among his brilliant clutter. Observe Mona Simpson, red-lining stories on a reclaimed wood kitchen table in what appears to be a Williams Sonoma catalog shoot. Ponder whether Joyce Carol Oates has more published books, or more pictures of her own face in her office.

These are the idyllic lands of sagging shelves, sloped ceilings and soft light through the window. The kinds of rooms that most writers wish they were actually heading to when they go to whatever restaurant or cubicle where they spend their money-making time. Whitehead says that even having a great room isn’t enough, and he moves his desk around wondering “Where’s the mojo these days? What room, what corner? How about by the window, one story above the street?” I did most of my best writing so far in a near-frozen storage space/extra bedroom facing a filthy Washington, DC alleyway — a view that didn’t matter because the sun was rarely up yet, and the dust-grimed blinds were always down. But I wrote some things there that I still find appealing.

If you have a great place where you get your writing done, send it to us. We’ll put you on the internet.

FICTION ADVOCATE HAS POSTED Dan Pribble’s review of Nicholson Baker’s “House of Holes,” in which Baker challenges Ludacris as the modern world’s preeminent laureate of getting freaky.

Neither the book nor the review seem like they would be safe for reading out loud at work.

Presented with no explanation and no guile, the House is not one structure but a multi-themed adult amusement park consisting of mountains, forests, bodies of water and many, many attractions dedicated to the unbridled and broadly envisioned pursuit of sexual pleasure. We are made privy to the existence of Masturboats, pussy-boarding, penis trees, pornsucker ships flown by pussypilots arranged in pornsucker squadrons, and cross-crotchal interplasmic transfers, which are more or less exactly what they sound like. Guests can visit the Hall of Penises, the Garden of Wholesome Delightful Fuckers, Groanrooms, the Porndecahedron or the headless bedrooms (not as bad as they sound). “Cock” and “pussy,” already in heavy rotation, understandably give way to more outlandish monikers such as Lincoln Stiffins, spunk pipe, manjig and Malcolm Gladwell; or else bitchgroove, twizzled riddler, lettuce patch and fuckfountain.